


Tumblr ficlets

by fatal_drum



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sick Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Ficlet requests from Tumblr.





	Tumblr ficlets

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still taking requests here and at my Tumblr, @fataldrum. Feel free to challenge me. Current fandoms include Hannibal, Gotham, Dishonored, and Far Cry 4/5.

@oswobblepot asked for “Hurt/comfort? Jim injured or sick with a cold, oswald playing nurse?”  

 

* * *

 

 

Jim had too much shit to do, and he was not going to let a goddamn cold stop him.  

By ten a.m. Bullock had finally stumbled in and told him he looked like shit warmed over. Jim flipped him the bird and dry-swallowed a handful of off-brand DayQuil. 

By eleven, Montoya had dropped a mug of soup and a box of kleenex at his desk. Jim ignored the mug (everything tasted like snot), but he used the kleenex. They were the nice ones, with lotion. Not that he fucking needed it. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take that much,” Lucius said. 

“Buzz off,” Jim snapped, then saw the report in Lucius’s hands. “But give me that first.”

Lucius was too much of a gentleman to roll his eyes, but he came close. Jim ignored him. 

Around one o’clock things suddenly got quiet, and looking up, Jim saw the cause and groaned: Oswald fucking Cobblepot in full disco vampire get-up, flanked by goons and sashaying to Jim’s goddamn desk.

“I don’t have time for this, Cobble— _choo!”_ Once Jim started sneezing, he couldn’t stop, burying his face in a wad of Montoya’s fancy kleenex and generally making a nasty, snotty mess of himself. 

“Detective Gordon?” 

Before Jim could stop him, Cobblepot laid a slim hand on Jim’s scorching forehead. Jim sighed and almost leaned into the coolness. Then Cobblepot stiffened and drew back.

“James Gordon,  _what_ are you doing to yourself?” 

“None of your business,” Jim muttered, missing the cool touch on his skin. Fuck, he must be delirious. He looked down a his desk, wondering if Cobblepot would go away if he looked busy. Cobblepot barked some orders, which Jim ignored until he was being pulled to his feet.

“What the—? Leggo!” he complained, pawing at the iron grip on his arm. Oswald’s goon just rolled his eyes. “Harvey!”

“Sorry, bud,” Harvey said, not looking sorry. “If you won’t listen to us and rest, maybe you’ll listen to him.” 

Eventually Jim gave up the struggle and resorted to sulking all the way to the car.   
  
He minded a lot less when he was wrapped in blankets in the back of the limo, with Cobblepot pushing the sweaty hair out of his face with his cool hands. 


End file.
